


Convergence

by Roselightfairy



Series: Finding a Voice [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Children, Cultural Sharing, Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Snakes, Worldbuilding, but only a little one!, kind of, lots of little elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 19:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15420003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy
Summary: Legolas comes to visit Gimli in his new realm.





	Convergence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harmonious_Wolf_1993](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmonious_Wolf_1993/gifts), [UltraFirelily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraFirelily/gifts), [ZaeraDee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaeraDee/gifts).



> Hello and welcome to another installment of the Finding a Voice series? This story is sort of a patchwork of several different elements I have wanted to include in this 'verse, hopefully arranged in some sort of coherent order. It takes place probably a year or so after Home.
> 
> This story is being gifted to a few different people, for a few different reasons.
> 
> ZaeraDee: for drawing amazing amazing [fanart](https://roselightfairy.tumblr.com/post/173750085651/zaera-d-legolas-and-gimli-from-roselightfairy) of this series. I've wanted to thank you for quite some time now. I kept hoping to give you something a little better than this, but I hope this satisfies at least a little.  
> UltraFirelily: for being a regular commenter, and for inspiring part of this story in requesting kidfic. (Maybe after reading this story, you'll see why it's not something I do regularly, but I hope this delivers what you hoped for!)  
> Harmonious_Wolf_1993: for being an incredibly faithful commenter - and because To the Sea was posted on your birthday and it was so depressing, I wanted to give you something a little happier. (Happy very-very-belated!)
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, on to the story.

The ride from Ithilien to Aglarond was not so long, not compared to other journeys Legolas had taken, but it always felt like it lasted an eternity when all he wished was to be there instantly.

“Such impatience, Legolas,” teased Duvaineth, his companion for the journey.  “Never had I thought to see the day when you of all people showed no interest in lingering on the road.”

Legolas tried a glare, but she only smiled winningly until his mock ire dissolved into a sigh.  She was right, he knew – in days past, he would have been the first to call a halt to examine some new plant on the road, or gaze out at an overlook to take in a particularly fine bit of scenery.  But he could not help it; ever there was a restlessness inside of him that it felt would not be truly settled until he saw Gimli once more.  And now, when he was so close, it was harder to contain.

Lis and her spouse Althi were waiting to greet them when they arrived at the gates.  The settlement was progressed far enough now that the dwarves had their own entrance, and the men of Rohan had no say in entrances and exits there (though Éomer could, if he wished).  This change had been in effect when Legolas had visited last year, but not the uniforms of the guard, which he noted with pleasure that Althi wore.  They must have been standing guard, and Lis had come to watch with them.  To await the elves’ arrival?  Legolas dared to hope.

He could see when she spotted them: her eyes lit up, and she tugged on Althi’s arm.  As soon as Legolas and Duvaineth had drawn near enough to dismount, Lis left Althi’s side and rushed forward to meet them.

“Welcome!” she cried, touching her forehead to Duvaineth’s – and Legolas watched in pleasure as his companion returned the greeting with equal enthusiasm.  “I am so glad to see you!”  Releasing Duvaineth, Lis tugged Legolas down to her level and treated him in similar fashion.  “Lord Gimli charged me with your welcome; unhappily, he could not come himself, as he is busy in meetings with what seems every single new dwarf who has come in the last weeks.”  She rolled her eyes.  “But he told me that I should tell you to make yourself at home.”

She seized Duvaineth’s hand and looked as though she would have made off with her without wasting further time on words – had Duvaineth not spoken up.  “Our horses?” she said, looking back – but Legolas could see the eagerness in her face.

“Such impatience, Duvaineth,” he could not resist saying.  “Never had I thought to see the day when” –

“Oh, hush,” she said, but flushed, and Legolas took pity on her.  He could understand, after all.

“I know where the stables are,” he said.  “I will care for our mounts while you enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you!” said Lis, before Duvaineth could even speak, and without another word the two of them were off, chattering animatedly as they made for the gardens.

Left alone, Althi and Legolas could only stare at one another for a moment.  “You may stay with me, if you wish,” Althi said at last.  “Lis left me under no delusions that she would remain here to keep me company, but I may not leave my post.  If you wish for a companion, I will be here – but I understand if you wish to simply enter and wait for Lord Gimli instead.”

Legolas hesitated – but for all that the offer had been kindly made, he thought it would be to neither of their liking.  “I will go in and wait for Gimli from within,” he said at last.  The horses had had a long ride, and would prefer to be cared for now rather than waiting.  Then there were places within the caves where he might find fresh air, and he could wander a time before Gimli finished with his duties.  “But I am grateful for your kind offer.”

Althi nodded, seeming a bit relieved as well.  And no wonder, Legolas thought; who would wish to take on the task of entertaining him?  “I am sure I will see you later, then.  Enjoy your wanderings.”

“I will,” said Legolas, and made his escape before the conversation could become any more uncomfortable, leading the horses behind him.

* * *

It had been only a year since Legolas had last come to Aglarond, and yet the work that had been done was astonishing.  Legolas wandered for a time after stabling the horses, but he did not wish to explore too much without Gimli to tell him what all had been done and what purpose it all was to serve – he would not rob Gimli of the delight of explaining it.

Not only that, but Lis had told the truth about the number of new dwarves here.  Legolas found himself fidgeting uneasily under the stares, straining to take in the murmurs of the dwarves he passed, in Khuzdul and Westron alike.

Of course, he did not truly wish to hear what they said, but he could not help listening for it anyway.

To his relief, his favorite garden chamber was empty, and his nerves immediately calmed when he was there, alone, in what was very nearly the open air.  He occupied himself for a moment gazing up at where the sun streamed in through the skylight-opening, inhaling fresh air and the smell of green things, a scent that always helped keep him connected to the living world, even when surrounded by stone.  Then he knelt over one of the long garden boxes to examine the row of young fruit trees that grew there.

A small garter snake had found its way into the soil, he saw.  Not an uncommon occurrence, when caves and gardens were combined – and now he put out his hand, whispering reassurance to it until it slithered willingly onto his palm and up his arm.  He admired it for a moment: it was dark, nearly black, but with a slight sheen of green to its almost-invisible scales, and it writhed its way up his arm with smooth grace –

“How did you do that?”

The voice was small, higher-pitched than those he was used to hearing here, and sudden enough that he actually startled a bit before turning, his eyes flying wide in surprise.

Legolas had seen many dwarves in the last few years; far more than in all his life before meeting Gimli, and he knew that while there was variation in their heights, the differences were rarely dramatic.  He had met dwarves who stood as high as his chin and as low as his chest, but never any lower.  Never a dwarf who stood only barely as high as his hips.  And he had seen young dwarves before, though only ever in passing.  Never before had one stood before him as this one was now doing, with crossed arms and short, messy braids and just a wisp of chin fluff.  This was, undoubtedly, a dwarf child.

At a loss for what to do, Legolas could only answer the question.  “I promised him that I mean no harm,” he said, holding out his arm.  The snake had startled a bit at the child’s advent, but Legolas murmured to him, a promise that he was in no danger, and he settled, though he kept his head alert and attentive.

The child took a few steps closer.  “I don’t mean any harm either,” ze said.  “But they never come to _me_.”

“Perhaps they do not understand you,” Legolas suggested.  There was something about his own language that made it feel almost a shared tongue with all the living things he encountered – perhaps it was the language itself, or merely the fact that it was being spoken by an elf, whose distance from such creatures was less than the other races.  But the child’s face fell, and he could not bear to see the disappointment on it.  “Would you like me to ask him if you can hold him?”

“Yes!”  The dwarfling’s head shot up, eyes going wide.  “I won’t hurt him, I promise!”

“I am sure you will not,” Legolas said, though he made a note to watch carefully should the child’s enthusiasm prove too much for the creature’s safety.  He whispered in Sindarin to the snake, promising that the child meant no harm and that he himself would ensure the snake’s protection, and after a long moment of deliberation, the snake began to make its slow-gliding way back down Legolas’s arm in assent.

“He has given his permission,” said Legolas, kneeling in front of the child and taking hir hand.  “So you must keep very still and quiet, or he will be frightened away.”

The child nodded, lips pressed together and eyes wide in earnest assurance as ze watched the snake very slowly slither from Legolas’s hand, over their joined fingers, and onto hir own arm.

The snake remained on the child’s knuckles cautiously for a long moment, his head flicking from side to side as though to test the air, and then very slowly he coiled up on the back of the child’s hand.

Legolas realized that even the sound of the child’s breathing had stopped as ze stood transfixed, and he put a steadying hand on hir shoulder.  “You may breathe!” he said in alarm.  “He knows you are as alive as he, and that you need breath in your body just as much!”

The child rocked forward as ze sucked in a deep breath, and the snake roiled on hir hand before Legolas soothed him with a few words.  When he looked up again, the child was staring at him this time.

“How do you talk to him?” ze asked.  “Why does he understand you?”

Legolas hesitated – but there was nothing for it; he did not want to tell untruths, and the differences between them were obvious anyway.  “Because I am an elf,” he said, “and most creatures can understand us when we speak to them.”

The child’s eyebrows drew together.  “An elf?” ze said.

Legolas nodded.  “Legolas, son of Thranduil, at your service.” He knew not if the child would have heard his name – as far as he had understood from Gimli’s letter of invitation, the arrival of mothers with children was still very recent, and he knew not how old this child was.

The child puffed up in importance. “Buri, son of Durinar, at yours and your family’s,” he responded, and Legolas sighed inwardly, glad to have a name and gender at last.  But after another moment, Buri cocked his head.  “Is that why you look funny, then?” he said. “Because you are not a dwarf?”

“I suppose so,” said Legolas, “but I think I look as I am meant to look.”  He had not wished to navigate the prejudices between the races, at least not with one so young, but at least the look on the child’s face was more one of curiosity than of censure.  “Just as the snake on your hand is long and slender and has no legs, just as your people are stout and bearded, so do I look as I do.”

“Oh.”  Buri seemed to consider this for a time; then, with the hand not occupied with the snake, he reached up to point at one of Legolas’s ears.  “Do all elfs have ears like yours?”

“Not exactly like,” said Legolas carefully, “but more like mine than like yours, yes.”

“Can I touch them?”

Legolas wavered for a moment, unsure how best to refuse.  Buri must absolutely not touch his ears, of course, but he did not want to frighten him away from elves forever with too adamant a refusal – but all the same, dwarves had taboos of their own, did they not?  “No,” he said at last, simply.

“Oh.”  Buri looked down again at the snake on his hand, then back up.  “Why not?”

“You know, do you not, that you must not touch other dwarves’ beards?” Perhaps if he began with something that Buri would understand . . .

Buri nodded.  “Except for Amad’s.”

“It is the same for elves’ ears,” Legolas said.  “Only a very few people may touch them.”  But the mention of an Amad had drawn his attention – why was this child wandering alone?  Surely he was too young to be away from his mother.  “Where is your Amad, little one?”

Buri scowled fiercely, chin rising so that the wisps of hair fluttered with the motion.  “I’m not little,” he said.  “I’m twelve.”

Twelve.  Legolas attempted to calculate what that might mean in comparison to elves’ ages, and then gave up.  “I am sorry,” he said seriously.  “You are not little.  But surely your Amad will be looking for you?”

“Probably,” said Buri.  His face crunched suddenly, brow wrinkling in the earnest concern of a child as he looked up at Legolas.  “Amad doesn’t like elfs,” he said.

“No?” Legolas forced his voice to remain light – there was no use in pressing his own concerns onto a child, after all – and strove to conceal the real worry these words raised within him; what if Buri’s mother was displeased to find her son wandering with an elf?  If she was already disposed to dislike him, and then she found him alone with her son –

But he could hardly leave a child wandering on his own, whatever his mother might say.  And perhaps if he were prepared, he might know at least how to face her when they finally did find her.  So he steeled himself to keep a neutral expression and asked, “Why not?”

A puzzled look crossed Buri’s face.  “Don’t know,” he said at last.  “She just says it.”

So it was one of those, then – but no, that was not fair; perhaps there was more to it and Buri simply did not know.  “I see,” said Legolas at last, feigning a certainty he did not feel.  “And what do you think?”

Buri looked down at the snake that still lay peacefully over his knuckles, and then back into Legolas’s face.  “You let me hold the snake,” he said at last.

“The snake let you hold him,” Legolas corrected – it was hardly his role to give permission for anyone to handle another creature!

“Yes,” said Buri.  “But you helped me.”  He gave his hand another considering look, and then recited, “Thank you,” in a dutiful voice.

“It was my pleasure to help you make a friend,” said Legolas.  “But perhaps we should go seek your Amad now?  I think she would be glad to know where you are.”

Buri’s head drooped, and he would not look up.  “Do I have to put the snake down?”

Legolas laughed.  “So long as he allows you, you may hold him as long as you like.”

“Really?”  Buri looked up once more, and in his eyes was a look of delight the likes of which could only be seen on a child’s face – a look that would never cease to warm Legolas’s entire body from the inside out.  “Then I will come with you.”

* * *

Gimli left his meeting with a sense of deep relief.

That was done, finally.  Running Aglarond had been easiest when it was merely the miners and the architects and the stonemasons – those who were here out of interest in the craft and respect for the beauty.  He had anticipated the challenges of running a settlement, but not all of them, and it was one thing to anticipate and quite another to experience.

And besides, Legolas was here somewhere.

Althi told him, when he met them at the gates, that Legolas had gone off wandering, but they knew not where.  But Gimli knew his husband well enough to guess, so he thanked them and then went directly for the first garden chamber.

His guess was good; he heard Legolas, to his surprise, before Legolas showed any signs of hearing him.  And to his even greater surprise, it was because Legolas was talking.

“If he wishes to go, you must not hold onto him,” he said.  “Else he will not want to return another day.”

A long pause, and then a delighted laugh – a laugh that, if Gimli was not mistaken, belonged to a child.  “He is in your hair!”

“So he is.”  Legolas laughed as well, light and joyous in a way that quickened Gimli’s heart – the sound, if it existed, of blossoms opening in spring.  Gimli had thought it often, though he knew that if he ventured to say it aloud Legolas would blush and hide his face, but that he would laugh quietly even as he did –

And he was _so close_ , and it had been long, and for all that Gimli’s curiosity urged him to stay quiet and listen, he could not bear to hold back any longer.  “Legolas?” he called.

There was a pause, and then the response came: bright and elated.  “Gimli!”

Gimli’s pace picked up as he turned in the direction of the voices, and soon enough the patter of light running feet came to his ears – just before Legolas rounded a corner.  Tall, so tall – Gimli always forgot, in the time they were apart, how much taller Legolas was – and lean, everything about the way he moved suggested that he was one who could be prey and predator, fast and wary and dangerous – but his face broke into a smile of delight when he saw Gimli, and he rushed forward.

“Legolas,” Gimli breathed, and clamped his arms around his husband’s waist – and then stopped, drawn up short by both the unusual distribution of Legolas’s weight and the small voice that spoke above his head.

“Ugh,” it said.

Gimli looked up at last; distracted finally from the immediacy of his gladness and relief at Legolas’s presence, his eyes took in the child riding on Legolas’s shoulders.  A child, surprisingly enough, whom he recognized.

“Buri?” he said.

“Oh – you know him?” Legolas sounded relieved.  “We were looking for his mother, but I knew not what to seek” –

“I know her, yes,” Gimli said.  “You are Ata’s son, are you not?”

Buri did not answer him, seeming much more concerned with his own question.  “Are you going to kiss him?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

Slightly startled, and more than a little amused, Gimli decided that the only thing to do was to answer honestly.  “Yes, I had planned to,” he said.  “It is customary, is it not, when greeting one’s husband?”

He smiled up at Legolas, and watched Legolas’s eyes go soft in return.  “Indeed it is,” he said, leaning down.

“Stop!” protested Buri then, tugging at Legolas’s hair.  Gimli, watching, saw the young dwarf’s hand brush Legolas’s left ear, and he flinched _for_ the elf, knowing intimately how sensitive they were, and knowing that Legolas would not dare to protest –

 – but to his surprise, Legolas’s hand shot up and closed around the child’s wrist.  “No,” he said firmly.  “I told you those were not to be touched, you remember. If you do so again, I shall have to set you down.”

And to Gimli’s even greater surprise, Buri subsided.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, moving his hands back.  “But don’t kiss him while I am here!”  He paused.  “Please?”

“Very well.”  Legolas laughed, and looked down at Gimli apologetically.  “Alas, we have been forbidden from exchanging proper greetings,” he said gravely, and Gimli could not help rolling his eyes fondly.  He should have guessed that of course Legolas would be unable to resist a child’s requests.

“If we must wait,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh.  “But you may regret this decision when we are finally in a place of privacy, for my enthusiasm shall only grow.”

“Regret?  Hardly.”  Legolas reached out and caught the braid in Gimli’s beard, brushing a finger over the bead that he had made for their wedding some four years before.  Gimli had received plenty of stares for wearing beads made of wood, but he treasured them as much as if they had been made of the finest gems and metals.  “But for now, I would ask a favor.  I met Buri in the gardens, and he has told me that he was separated from his Amad.  We are looking for her now, but he knows not where she might be.”

“Well, I have no better idea myself, but I would be pleased to help in your search,” said Gimli, though his heart sank.  Ata was one he had been avoiding for some time, since the first week the group of civilians and children had come, when she had made her – interests known.  All the same, the child needed to be returned to his mother, and he knew that Legolas would not rest until his safety was seen to.

“Wonderful.”  Legolas beamed down at him, and it almost made it worth it.  Until – a flash of motion caught his eye, and he frowned.

“Is that a snake in your hair?” he asked, and Legolas and Buri both burst out laughing, loudly enough that the snake slithered away in alarm, down Legolas’s body and away into a corner.

They heard Ata before they saw her, after only a few moments of wandering and idle chatter.  Heavy footsteps, and her voice, calling Buri’s name.  On Legolas’s shoulders, Buri squirmed until Legolas reached up and clasped his ankles to keep him from falling.

“Be still!” Legolas said, and Gimli could hear the alarm in his voice.  “I would not have you fall from my back before I may deliver you to your Amad!”

“Do you have to?” he asked plaintively.  “Can I just stay with you?”

“Nay,” said Legolas, “for your mother is surely very worried for you – and I am sure she would not find any further fondness for elves if she thought I had swept you away.”  He glanced at Gimli, and Gimli wondered if Legolas knew that that indeed was a legend spread of elves in some places – not in many dwarvish realms, but in some –: that they would steal children and abscond with them.

Most likely, Gimli thought, and then Ata’s voice rang through the corridor again.  But Buri showed no sign of answering, so Gimli raised his own voice.  “Ata!” he called.  “Ata, we have him!”

Moments later, her heavy footsteps could be heard rounding the corner.  Legolas moved as though to let Buri down, but Gimli saw that the child was clinging tightly to his shoulders, and did not seem to wish to be lowered.  “No!” he said.

“Buri,” said Legolas urgently, and his eyes darted to the corner.  Gimli understood: he did not wish Ata to come across them and see her child on the shoulders of an elf.  “Buri, please.”

“Come now,” Gimli said, touching Legolas’s hand in sympathy even as he added his own voice to Legolas’s pleas.  “You want to be standing on your own feet when your Amad rounds the corner, do you not” –

But it was too late; the footsteps grew louder and Ata came into view.

She froze when she saw them; Gimli saw her eyes sweep over the whole company, resting on Legolas last and taking in the sight of her son riding on the elf’s shoulders.  Her face showed nothing but shock at first—but that lasted only a moment before it went hard in distrust.

Legolas shrank.  It was a motion Gimli had seen from him before, a compression of shoulders and tightening of hips as though trying to make himself smaller, and one he used often around dwarves.  But of course his height and build were still far too distinctive to let him seem anything other than what he was.

“Buri!” said Ata at last.  “What are you doing?  Come down at once.”

“No,” said the child stubbornly.  “I want to stay with Legolas.”

“I am sorry,” said Legolas immediately.  “I found him in the gardens, and I thought he should not be wandering alone” –

“Thank you for your input,” said Ata, frost in her voice, and Legolas flinched visibly.  Gimli winced for him – of course he knew Legolas had not intended to slight Ata’s parenting, but just as he was steeling himself to step in, Ata continued.  “I appreciate your assistance, Master Elf.”  Her eyes flicked back and forth between him and Gimli, and her eyebrows inched up just a bit.  “But if you would return my child to me, I would be glad of it.”

“I am trying,” Legolas said helplessly.  “Buri, you know you must return to your Amad” –

“But I want to stay with you!” he said.

Ata’s frown grew more pronounced, and Legolas’s glance was darting back and forth as though he sought some kind of escape, and Gimli spoke up at last.

“Buri,” he said, “Legolas will be here for many days yet, visiting.  You will see him again, if you wish.  But for now, he and your Amad are right.  You must go with her.”  He hesitated, but it would do no harm for Ata to hear him say it.  “Besides, I wish to greet him as best befits a husband, and if I recall correctly, you did not wish to be present when I did so.”

“Ugh,” said Buri again, heartfelt, and now he scrambled on Legolas’s shoulders.  Legolas reached up to catch him around the waist and lift him over his head, setting him down on the ground in front of his mother.  But Buri did not turn to her just yet.  “I will go, then.  But you must later meet me in the gardens again, and teach me to speak with snakes, as you promised.”

Ata’s face turned horrified, and Gimli winced as Legolas shrank further.  But he could clearly not say Buri nay, even now, and so he said, “I will, so long as your Amad allows it.”

“Perhaps,” said Ata stiffly, reaching out to take Buri’s hand.  “We will see.  But for now, we will take our leave of you, my lords.  Enjoy your evening.”

“We will,” said Gimli, nodding to Ata.  “And you as well.”

“Farewell,” was all that Legolas said, his voice so quiet it was nearly a peep.

When Ata and Buri had gone at last, Gimli held both of Legolas’s hands in his and smiled up at him – in part hoping to distract him; in part merely unable to hold back any longer.  “Well?” he said.  “I believe there were some proper greetings that were to be had?”

Legolas smiled again at last and leaned down to wind his arms around Gimli’s neck.  “Indeed there were,” he said, “and I should hate to leave you waiting any longer.”

They kissed until both of them were breathless, leaning against one another to stay upright; when they finally parted for air, Gimli tugged at the braids in Legolas’s hair.  “Our quarters,” he panted.  “Now.”

“Now,” Legolas agreed, and they made their way hastily down the hall.

Many changes had been made since Legolas had last visited, and a small part of Gimli urged him to stop and show Legolas what had been done – but every time that small part spoke up, Gimli would look over at Legolas and immediately lose all desire to in any way delay their journey to the bedroom and privacy at last.

The walk was likely shorter than it felt, given the speed at which they moved, but it seemed to last forever.  When finally Gimli opened the door to their chambers, he felt that nothing could hold him back now –

But he stopped short even as he prepared to pounce, realizing that his husband stood transfixed in the doorway.

Of course – Legolas had not been here in months; the rooms had been suited only for sleeping when he had last visited.  Now he stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the changes, and Gimli felt lust and desire soften into gratitude at Legolas’s reaction and dim in the bright flare of pride that lit within him.

“Gimli,” Legolas breathed, running a hand over the walls – the green glimmered darkly in the light from the open shutters; Gimli had cut it only slightly, only in places where it would best catch the light and bring out the streaks of gold from untapped veins of citrine.  “Gimli, I feel as though I stand inside a forest of living stone.  You – you are a marvel.”

His other hand reached out to cup Gimli’s cheek, and Gimli turned his face into it, overcome.  “I thought of you,” he said hoarsely.  “All the while I carved this room, I thought of you, and now even when I sleep here alone, I will always feel that you are beside me.”

Legolas made a soft sound, almost a whimper, and surged forward to kiss Gimli again, deep and desperate and longing.  Gimli lost himself in it immediately, clutching Legolas’s head, twisting his fingers into the long dark hair, feeling Legolas’s own hands roaming over his head and neck and shoulders, always moving, always so _alive_.  It was some moments before he could bring himself to pull back, and when he did, he was already gasping for air.  “Do you – Legolas,” he panted, “do you want to see the rest of the rooms?”

“Later,” Legolas said, just as breathless, his limbs and hair everywhere.  “First – show me the bed.”

* * *

It had been long, so long – too long, it was always too long.  So long that they could never contain their impatience, that first time in bed together after long time apart.  It was over quickly and they lay tangled together, gasping and spent, gazing up at the shimmering green of their ceiling.

Gimli stroked Legolas’s shoulder as their breath slowed, smooth skin slightly damp with sweat, and Legolas hummed softly in his throat, rolling his head lazily over to look at Gimli.  “I missed you,” he said.

Gimli turned his own head to the side and laid a kiss beside his fingers.  “And I you.”  He continued to nuzzle against Legolas’s shoulder, and Legolas laughed and squirmed around until he could claim a proper kiss.

When they parted, Gimli smiled a bit languidly, his insides still warm and glowing.  “I like seeing you with children,” he said, running a finger over Legolas’s cheekbone.  “How did you meet Buri today?”

“He was wandering in the gardens.”  Legolas tilted his cheek into Gimli’s hand.  “We spoke about snakes, and – oh.”  His face changed, his eyes sharpening, and Gimli realized that the mood between them had suddenly turned serious.  “You seemed to know him,” Legolas said, and Gimli tensed reflexively – a motion Legolas did not miss.  “Does this mean you know Ata as well?”

“I do,” said Gimli – the thought of Legolas asking him about Ata as they lay in bed together was a strange one, somehow, but he would not lie to him.

“Will you tell me of her?”

“Why?”  Gimli did not truly intend to evade forever, but he could not help wondering about the source of Legolas’s curiosity.

Legolas shrugged.  “I suppose – Buri said that she dislikes elves, and while I understand that many dwarves do, I could not help wondering about her reasons in particular.  For perhaps if I may understand better what prejudices your kin may have, I may do better in my efforts to dispel their fears about me.”

“Perhaps,” said Gimli, though he thought privately that Legolas needed no more pressures upon him in his interactions with Gimli’s kin.  “But Ata’s reasons for disliking elves are based less in universal prejudice than in personal, I think.  She lost family in the Battle of Five Armies, and many of our people are quick to blame the elves of Lasgalen for those events, though many had fault in them.”

“Oh.”  Legolas went quiet for a time, a bit shamefaced, and Gimli hoped that he was not taking fault onto himself that he did not deserve.  Gimli had told him much of what had been said among the dwarves of Erebor after that battle – most of it bitter, at the beginning, before the past had cooled from magma into stone.  Most tempers had likewise settled, but the hardened shape of the stories was not so easily molded, even if no one realm had the sole fault in any of the events of the past.  “I suppose that is to be expected, but . . .”

“But nothing,” said Gimli.  “Her feelings are understandable; there is much in our peoples’ past that yet attempts to stand between us, but I know that you are not to blame, and enough of my people will come to know that in time to come.”  That was one of the things he had hoped for this visit, after all – to introduce Legolas to those who did not know him as a _person_ , as his husband, and his consort.  To create a place where Legolas might feel welcome, and where dwarves might begin to welcome him as – maybe not as one of them, but as more than a guest to be tolerated.  As someone who might feel at home.

“Thank you,” said Legolas softly, and then hesitated. “And you – you are Ata’s friend, then?  You seem to know much of this, and yet I have never met her.  Have you become close recently?”

“I” – Gimli hesitated.  “One might say so, I suppose.”

Legolas’s eyebrows went up.  “What do you mean?”

Gimli sighed.  He had no interest in keeping secrets from Legolas; he was merely not sure how his husband would react.  “Ata – showed some interest in me, recently,” he said reluctantly.  It felt strange to say this as they lay together in bed, unclothed and close – but perhaps it would have felt strange to say it anywhere else as well.  “Her husband Durinar died during the Ring War, in the same battle that took Dain Ironfoot, and of late she made certain – overtures to me.  We had been friendly enough before, and she thought we might keep company together, though we were not in love.”

Legolas frowned.  “Keep company?”

Gimli waved a hand over their bodies to indicate the intimacy in which they lay, unable to explain any better, but Legolas understood.  His eyes grew wide.

“After her husband’s death?” he said.

“It is not unheard of,” said Gimli.  “Dwarves love but once, but the yearnings of the flesh do not always recede, and none will cast stones if a widow seeks another partner, for comfort or companionship, if not as a replacement.  But I” – He shrugged.  “I turned her down, of course.”  He thought perhaps he ought not explain that Ata had not at first believed elves capable of the kind of love that dwarves would share; it would do no good for Legolas and he would only be either angry or fretful and determined to prove her incorrect.

“But – she could – you could” – Legolas’s hand rose to draw jerky and inexplicit images in the air; Gimli looked at him, and Legolas saw that he did not understand.  “It is – you must understand, for elves it is not – I have not” – He hissed out a breath through his teeth, as though frustrated with his own inability to explain.

“Relax,” said Gimli gently – as difficult as the subject might be for both of them to discuss, he never wished to be a reason for Legolas’s speechlessness.  “I will wait for you to find the words you need.  Breathe, and then try again.”

Legolas nodded, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  “I am sorry for” –

“Shh,” said Gimli, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently.  “None of that, now.”

Legolas laughed softly, and it was a relief to Gimli to hear – he prided himself whenever that happened, whenever Legolas could at last find relief from his fears.  Even as the elf’s face sobered, still it was calmer than it had been.  “I do not wish to make you feel that I think myself superior to your traditions,” Legolas said carefully.  “Only to explain to you what I do not understand.  The thought that you might have ‘kept company’ with Ata is foreign to me – to the ways of all elves.  For with me, it is not only that I will never love another, but that I could not even fathom the idea of desiring a – a companion who is not you.”

“Oh.”  Gimli let out a breath, understanding.  For all he and Legolas had spoken of this at their first binding – for all his honor in being Legolas’s first – it seemed that there were still things about his husband that he had not fully understood.  “You said once that you had never desired another, before me,” he remembered.

“And you that you had.”  Legolas rolled onto his back again to stare up at the ceiling.  “And I suppose I should have understood it, after the way you spoke of the Lady – but at the time I did not understand what such feelings might mean; for me there was only affection and love, like that one might feel for a friend, and I understood nothing more than that.  But now I know it, of course, and it is odd, to think of you feeling thus for another.  Not that I think you odd!”  He had said too much too fast for Gimli to interrupt, and now he held his silence still at the contemplative look on Legolas’s face.  “It is merely strange to imagine you with another dwarf, for all that you surely would have been, had I not come into your life.”

“No,” said Gimli, shaking his head.  “No, I” – He hesitated.  How to explain?  “Firstly, what I feel for the Lady is not desire – it has never been desire.  I have always known that she is wed – and anyway, she is a great elven queen, far outside of my reach.”

“I am an elven prince,” Legolas pointed out, a strange, almost sullen note in his voice.

For all that Gimli could usually read him, now it was difficult, suddenly – and he wished to tread carefully here, that he not say something Legolas would take the wrong way.  “You are,” he said carefully, “but you are my companion and my friend, and my husband.  The Lady is above us all – surely you know that as well – and I admired her as a gracious lady who showed me great courtesy, as the least of her subjects.  But I never loved her as a partner, not with my heart – not the way I love you.”  He dared to lay a hand on Legolas’s chest, and Legolas did not stiffen or move away.  “It is not the same, but although I have been with other dwarves at times, that affection was all bodily desire.  And although I may look upon other dwarves and find them comely still, I have no desire to touch them or lie with them or do anything” – He gave up at last, helpless.  “You are the one I love, Legolas.”

Legolas’s hand came up to rest on Gimli’s where it lay against his heart.  “I know,” he said very softly.  “I am sorry that you must reassure me thus so often.  It is merely – you are so much the companion of my soul that sometimes I forget what differences lie between us.  You are no elf, and that is why I love you, but still sometimes I do not understand you.”

“And you are no dwarf,” said Gimli, beginning to trace his fingers up and down along the lean, hard muscles of Legolas’s chest and belly.  “And I find myself grateful for that, for all your ways are sometimes strange to me.  For” – He allowed himself a smile.  “For if you would have the truth of me, my own kind are not all so comely as they once were to my eyes.”  He traced up further, brushing hands along Legolas’s neck and winding them into his hair.  “They are not long enough, or lean, or smooth to the touch” –

Legolas laughed, and wriggled closer.  “Well, I have never found another so comely as I find you,” he said.  “And I had never before given much thought to the looks of my love, should I ever find one – and now I find that he stands as proud and solid as a hero from legend, that his eyes burn with all the fire beneath the earth – and that I cannot turn away from him, not when my eyes might be gazing upon his glory.”

“Then do not,” Gimli whispered, drawing Legolas close to press their mouths together once more.

And now, the urgency of before satisfied, they found themselves able to take their time.

* * *

Legolas would have gladly remained in bed with Gimli for the rest of the day – and possibly all the days of his stay – but some time later, Gimli sighed regretfully and sat up, tugging his limbs free of Legolas’s.  “We must prepare for the evening meal, Legolas,” he said, rising from the bed – Legolas took a moment to appreciate the sight, even as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.  “There is to be a grand feast, to celebrate the arrival and housing of all the tradespeople and the families with children who have finally come to make our realm a true settlement.  Afterward there will be music and dancing, and the telling of tales.”

He paused significantly, and Legolas felt his eyes widen, wondering if Gimli was telling him what he believed.  “And I – I am to be present for these tales?”

“You are,” said Gimli, taking up one of Legolas’s hands and pressing it between both of his.  “You are my husband, and this is my realm – I will not have it begun with your exclusion, not when we are meant to embrace new friendships and new relationships.”

“New friendships,” Legolas echoed, and frowned.  “Is Duvaineth to come as well?”

“She is welcome at the feast,” Gimli said, “and for the music and dancing afterwards.  But for the storytelling . . .” He paused.  “You must understand, I will have exceptions made for you; you are my one love and bound as closely to me as any non-dwarf could ever hope to be.  But she” –

“No, I understand,” said Legolas.  In truth, he could not think Duvaineth would wish to stay for the tales – she cared for Legolas, and for Lis, and she respected the dwarves as much as she could after _yeni_ of listening to tales of bitterness and prejudice, but Legolas did not think she would delight in hearing the dwarves’ stories in the way he himself had so longed to do.  Nor would she be given allowance to learn Khuzdul, and so she would have little appreciation for what she heard.  Still, the thought of being alone in a circle of dwarves as they told their stories, dwarves who would not want him there –

But no. No, he would not be alone.

He tipped his head back; sitting, he was nearly Gimli’s height, and the dwarf had to bend only slightly to kiss him.  When they separated, Legolas squeezed his hands and smiled.  “I look forward to it.”

* * *

No sooner had Legolas entered the dining hall than he found himself with an armful of enthusiastic dwarf.

“Legolas!” cried Alma, pulling away from the embrace and beaming up at him.  “Lord Legolas,” she corrected herself.  “I am so glad to see you!”

Legolas looked a question at Gimli, who nodded minutely, and he smiled down at Alma in return.  “Legolas will do well enough,” he said.  Alma had become more to him than merely Gimli’s second over the time they had spent in Minas Tirith, and Gimli’s response suggested that in their time working closely together, they too had left aside the formalities of Gimli’s title.  “I am glad to see you as well, Alma—and to see the work you have done on these caves.  It is a marvel.”

Her smile spread even wider, her face more expressive than Legolas had ever seen on a dwarf – not counting Gimli, whose every minute expression was known to him.  “Thank you,” she said.  “Will you be staying after the feast tonight for songs and stories?”

“I will,” said Legolas, venturing one last look at Gimli and seeing nothing but an encouraging nod.

“Good,” said Alma, nodding firmly as well.  “At last.”

She walked with them to the head table, and as they went, Legolas scanned the room.  Duvaineth sat with Lis and Althi at a table just below the one where Legolas and Gimli would sit.  He felt a sudden pang of concern – he ought to have remembered her, ought to have ensured that she would not be surrounded by unfamiliar dwarves – but as he watched carefully, he saw that she was leaning forward, animated in conversation with Lis and another dwarf who sat across the table from her.

She glanced to the side for just a moment and their eyes caught; she gave him a reassuring smile, and he let out a breath and followed Gimli and Alma to his own seat.

He was to be seated beside Gimli – of course, that he had not doubted; his husband would not have it otherwise.  Legolas braced himself for another meal in a chair too high for him, and sat down – and to his surprise, the chair sank with his weight.

“What – ?”

Gimli laughed beside him, and Legolas turned to see that his hand was pressing on a lever to the side of the seat.  When he let go, the chair stabilized, with Legolas’s head at the same height as the rest of the dwarves, not a foot higher above the table.  It was more comfortable thus, physically and mentally, even if he did have to stretch out his legs to keep them from crumpling beneath him.

“Did you design this?” he whispered to Gimli, and Gimli laughed again, shaking his head.

“I had neither the time nor the ingenuity to design such a chair,” he said, “though I regret that I cannot present you with the work of my own hands.  No, I asked Ith here for her help,” he nodded graciously to a dwarf across the table, “and it was the work of hardly hours for her to determine that cylinders of compressed air could be used to adjust the height.”

“Oh,” said Legolas, hardly knowing where to look, hardly daring to meet the eyes of the dwarf Gimli had indicated.  That she would have done such a thing for him, even at Gimli’s behest – “Thank you,” was all he could peep.

“It was my pleasure,” she said, giving him a firm nod across the table.  “I hardly need to be asked to tinker with such mechanisms.  And Lord Gimli is too modest – without his suggestion, I never would have thought to try raising and lowering dining chairs!”

“Ah, well – I think you both,” said Legolas, his cheeks growing warm. “And you,” he poked Gimli in the shoulder, “need never feel that what you have already given me does not suffice.  I have seen the work of your hands in our chambers, and here, as everywhere, your thought for me is enough.”  For none other than Gimli could know what a kindness this was for him – he always felt his height so keenly, when surrounded by other dwarves, and now he could sit at table with them without feeling like an inconvenience, an eyesore, drawing stares by the way his head rose above all the others.

Surely he was still different enough to attract attention, but now he would not do so by height alone, and Gimli knew it.

Indeed, Gimli’s thought for him was everywhere this night—as it happened, their rooms and this chair had been only the beginning.  It began when all were finally seated and Gimli rose to give his speech of welcome.  He spoke at length, warm and witty and eloquent, welcoming all the newcomers to his settlement and thanking those who had been with him all along.  He named Alma only, and she rose beside him to accept the applause of the others – but he mentioned no one else by name.  Even as Legolas half-tensed in anticipation of hearing his own name, of having to stand, or feel the eyes of all the dwarves on him, Gimli never spoke it.  But he spoke so carefully of his friends and allies, of the new beginnings and new friendships, that they were trying to create, that Legolas felt addressed in every word.

And then there was the food itself, passed around the tables on large platters, and a good number of those platters contained no meat at all.  Legolas had relaxed his standards out of politeness or necessity many times in the years they had spent together, but it was still his preference not to eat meat whose source he did not know – and he could see that Gimli had remembered it, and had provided for him, without a word of it.

He did not dare embrace Gimli here, not so in view of all these other dwarves.  But he reached for Gimli’s hand over the table and gave it a thankful squeeze, and Gimli only smiled, knowing, and returned the pressure.

* * *

Musicians had been playing, their songs lively but quiet in the background, throughout the course of the meal.  But Legolas noticed that gradually they grew louder and stronger, and slowly dwarves—mostly the parents with children—began to trickle out of the halls, perhaps in search of their own beds.  Servants came in as they left to clear the tables away, and so the transition between dinner and dancing happened almost seamlessly, even as Legolas watched in fascination.

Once a decent amount of space had been cleared on the floor, the musicians struck up another tune – this time, one that was familiar to Legolas, for he had heard it at the weddings he had attended, and Gimli had hummed it for him in their own home as he taught him a few steps to a dwarvish dance.

And even as Legolas remembered that, he felt a nudge against his arm and looked over to see Gimli standing beside him, holding out a hand and grinning.

“Gimli,” he said, hesitant, glancing around at the tables that still stood, the other dwarves making their way onto the cleared dance floor.  “Are you certain?  Your people” –

“Still you do not understand!” said Gimli, but his voice was soft and his smile fond.  He reached for one of Legolas’s braids and gave it a gentle tug, and Legolas could not help leaning into the motion.  “These are your people as well, my love.  You are my husband, and this is my realm – we are beholden to no one here.”  His free hand gestured about the hall, before coming back around to rest on Legolas’s shoulder.  “So will you not dance with me?”

Legolas could not be so easily convinced – but he looked into Gimli’s smiling, mock-pleading face, and he could not help laugh at the reversal of their usual roles – Gimli begging him to dance.  And it had been so long – so very long.

“I will,” he said, and he let Gimli tug him to his feet and lead him onto the floor.

It was a simple partner dance – meant, Gimli had informed him, to symbolize the melting and reforming of metal: with little footwork, the dance focused mostly on fluid motions of arms and hips, the partners coming together and then apart once more.  There were more complicated dances, but though each of them were graceful enough with the steps on their own, they had thus far found no other dance they could perform together in which Gimli did not trip over Legolas’s long limbs.  Legolas wondered if Gimli had intentionally chosen this song to begin the dancing, and from the gleam in his husband’s eyes, he could conclude that he had.

But even as they danced, he could feel eyes resting on them, even if he could never meet the gazes when he swung his own around.  “Gimli,” he murmured, “are you certain . . . ?”

“Hush,” Gimli said, pulling him into a turn.

When the song ended, Legolas made to return to the table, but Gimli kept hold of his hand, staying him.  “Another?” he asked.  “This one might be more to your liking.”

“Gimli” – Legolas laughed, but the song that began next was faster but unfamiliar – no song with a set dance, it seemed, or not one that Gimli had taught to him.  And Gimli put a hand on Legolas’s upper arm, relinquishing the lead to him, and how could Legolas turn down such an invitation?

“You are insistent tonight, my love,” murmured Legolas into Gimli’s ear as he turned Gimli before him, one step to each beat of the music.  “So often it is I who must cajole you onto the dance floor.”

“Ah, but do you not know how much I love to watch your face as you dance?” Gimli switched lead on him abruptly, pulling him into a double spin and surprising a laugh out of him.  “Yes,” Gimli said when they were facing one another once more, “I will never tire of that smile.”

“I should hope not,” teased Legolas, “for as long as you are at my side, you will never cease to see it.”  He laughed again, and Gimli reached up to tug him down and kiss the laughter from his lips until Legolas could not care any longer that they were in the middle of a dance floor, in front of so many watching eyes.

But even as they danced, Legolas felt himself slowing – the notes just a bit less quick to register in his mind, his body just a step more sluggish.  He was tired, he realized – not so much from the journey here but from everything else that this day had entailed: the conversation with unfamiliar dwarves, the relief at seeing his husband again . . .

“One more song?” Gimli asked him when this one ended.

He hesitated, truly unsure, but the next song that began was slow enough that he could keep up with it.  He smiled sleepily instead, leaning down to curl his arms around Gimli, and they simply rocked together to the gentle rhythm of the music.  But all the same –

“I will not last much longer than this,” he warned Gimli quietly – even his lips felt almost numb with tiredness.

“I know,” Gimli murmured back. “The dancing will not last long, and then we will sit for tales.  I would not overtax you – but I hope you will have the strength to finally listen as one of us.”

In truth, Legolas knew not how much strength he had left for the rest of the night – but he knew how important this was for Gimli, both to finally share his people’s traditions with Legolas and to prove to these other dwarves that Legolas would respect them.  And for those very same reasons, it was important for Legolas himself.

“I will find it,” he promised.

They moved off the floor for the next song, and Gimli led Legolas to a corner of the hall that servants had been busy readying for the storytelling: a semicircle of low chairs around a fire.  It seemed Gimli and his closest advisors – mostly, Legolas noticed, those who had been with him in Gondor and had followed him here – were to sit in chairs, and others on the floor before them.  Legolas paused before the chairs, looking a question at Gimli.

“Those who will tell the stories will sit here,” Gimli said.  “You may sit with the other dwarves on the floor, but if you wish” –

He paused, but Legolas knew how he would finish.  “I would stay with you, if it is allowed,” he said quietly.  “If I would not be taking up space that belongs to another.”

“The space I have in mind for you,” Gimli smiled, “belongs to you and you alone.”

The music slowly wound to a close; Legolas listened to it with eyes half-seeing, his head sinking to rest on Gimli’s knee.  He sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against Gimli’s shins as the lights dimmed and the group of dwarves trickled over to them.  Legolas listened to the last, soft notes of the music and the quiet rustles and murmurs of the group of dwarves as they settled themselves, and felt already half in a dream.

When everyone was seated, the lights flickered low, lamps and candles set about them as though to ease their passage into sleep – and indeed, Legolas would not need much longer, he thought, especially not when Gimli’s hand settled heavy on the crown of his head and began to stroke his hair in a slow, steady rhythm.

“My friends,” he said in Khuzdul, and his voice rumbled deep and strong throughout the whole of Legolas’s body.  “I thank you for joining me tonight – and for the years to come.  Tonight we have celebrated the beginnings of Aglarond, a realm that I hope will grow as strong as all the foundations of our people.  But in blessing of that beginning, we sit here now to remember our past, to recall the marvels and the mistakes of our ancestors, so we might aspire to emulate the former and lay the latter to rest.”

There was a murmur of approval, and when Gimli next spoke, Legolas could hear the smile in his voice.  “I will begin,” he said, “with the tale of our creation, so that we may always remember our origins, and strive to live true to the words of our Maker.”  And then his deep voice relaxed into a faraway, storytelling cadence, as though repeating words that had sunk into his soul, and he began.  “Many years ago . . .”

It was the story as Legolas had never heard it told, and it sank through his ears and into his heart, there to settle just as Gimli had, years before – as firm and as solid as stone itself, a new foundation in his soul to which he might cling.  The words were familiar, and the cadence of Gimli’s voice – were just as they had been when Gimli had taught him Khuzdul, so long ago, and he realized that this was the tongue of the dwarves as it was meant to be spoken, laden with solemnity and memory and tradition.  It was not memory as the elves held it, stored in the mind and branded on each individual spirit; dwarves did not last so long, so they stored their memory in their language instead, in their stories, so that all might remember even that which they had not experienced.

Legolas never stopped listening, even as the voices of the dwarves lulled his mind into wandering, even as the slightly-creased fabric of Gimli’s breeches imprinted itself into his cheek.  He did not know when he slipped from the waking world into dream, but he could tell it only because he ceased to merely hear the stories.  Rather, he could see them playing out before him: his dreams carried him through the dwarves’ voices and into their past, until he felt himself as a witness to these events that the dwarves had never seen – but he only saw what they remembered.  The past changed for them, he realized, and it mattered no longer what had truly transpired – all that he saw was what they carried with them.

The stories took on their own life in his dreams, and he listened to them still, even as his reverie carried him into their world – a world where, at last, he had been given a place.

* * *

The storytelling did not end until late in the night, though some dwarves quietly excused themselves partway through.  Gimli stayed until the very end and then some, and he was the last to leave the hall, even as the lamps and candles burned down nearly to nothing and even the servants left to seek their beds.

Then he smiled down at Legolas and gently lifted the elf’s head from his lap.  Legolas looked up at him, his eyes gleaming in the low light but still distant in elvish half-sleep, and smiled.

“I saw all of it,” he said, his voice slow and clumsy.  “All the stories – as though they played out within my mind, just as you remember them.”

Gimli laughed, but very quietly, careful not to wake him fully.  “I am sure you could,” he said, bending down to kiss the silky black hair.  “Now come with me to bed, my love.”

“Yes,” Legolas said, letting Gimli ease him to his feet.  He could walk, even in this strange reverie, but Gimli could see that he was not awake and guided him carefully, with an arm around his waist, lest he miss his step or hit his head on an archway too low.

He glanced back once more before leaving, at the lights burned down nearly to nothing, at all the disturbed furniture and spilled food – the mess of a true celebration of peace and prosperity and welcome – the welcome of a lord to his people.

And then he turned to lead his dreaming consort back down the corridors to their bedroom, and he looked only ahead.


End file.
